


In Another World

by 0 (spockicorn), spockicorn



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Canon with Extra Bits, Dorian is a bro, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Romance, Sexual Tension, Spoilers, Young Love, tent tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-06
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-10 17:20:06
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3298172
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockicorn/pseuds/0, https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockicorn/pseuds/spockicorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Solas is immediately infatuated with the Inquisitor, however he is nothing but conflicted. Of course he resists! Especially given the age difference between him and Lavellan. This story (mostly follows) canon but concentrates on the romantic in-between events, switching back and forth between different DAI characters POV. </p><p>Also eventual smut. Spoilers!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue/In Another World

**Author's Note:**

> Note: This story will also take place over a longer period of time than the deceptive "80ish" hour play through of the game, starting from when Lavellan is expelled from the Fade to post-game. The relationship between her and Solas evolves through this time...where what starts as "hot for teacher" evolves into something more than just tavern song fodder.

**PROLOGUE**

Solas closed his eyes to protect them from the hot sun overhead. His body was heavy yet floating. His eyes were seeing yet dreaming. The last thing he could remember was approaching Mythal at the eluvian, she had reached to embrace him and then like a spark he had entered this ineffable place. What had happened to him? He still thought of himself as Fen'Harel, but he could hear other voices whispering in his thoughts. The rhythm was familiar, but the lyrics new. 

 _"I'm sorry old friend."_ She had said. And then…he was left alone with his the hush of his thoughts dancing with the new voices. Sitting mournfully in the unknown garden, he thought of _her._

In the background he thought the birds sang as if they had the whole world caught in their throat.

**CHAPTER ONE**

**DAY THREE**

For what seemed the first time, Solas looked down at the young elf he had been tending to. _”She is too young,”_ he thought sadly as he pushed a strand of her platinum blonde hair off her sweaty brow revealing the sinewy veins of her _vallaslin._ The marks felt swollen under his fingers. “ _She can’t be more than 20 years old, these are freshly made.”_

He was sitting cross-legged next to her on the floor of the prison cell in a bed of dry hay. With very few interruptions, including sleep, he had held onto her hand in the hot dark air of the room over the last three days to monitor her wavering condition. Using his mana, he traced the trail of Fade magic erupting from her palm. “ _Good,”_ he smiled to himself, “ _she has stabilized.”_ It was a relief. “ _Still, she is too young for what will come.”_

Luck was the only reason he had been with the survey group of Inquisition scouts in the desolate aftermath of the Temple of Sacred Ashes They hadn’t expected to find anyone living, but they had found _her._ How was beyond anyone’s comprehension—even Solas’. Nothing could have prepared them from the first sight of her body in that sea of burnt corpses, curled in a ball and barely breathing. They had seen her from a distance as her hand sputtering random bursts of green light. Frantically, Solas had rushed to her side, kneeling to her in the damp ground. He felt the familiar pull of ancient elven magic. _His magic._ This small elf girl had somehow physically survived the Fade…and come back.

 "Quickly," he had shouted desperately at the frightened guards, "We must get her to safety."

They had carried her slowly over the rough terrain back to gates of Haven to the Chantry. Solas had held onto her hand the entire way, concentrating on stabilizing the bursts of energy periodically erupting from her palm. " _She might know something of the orb, where it went,"_ he had selfishly mused.

On their return the Seeker Cassandra had started bellowing at him violently. She had hovered over him skeptically ever since he had approached the surviving Conclave members. Pacing the cell she espoused that this Dalish girl before her must somehow be responsible for the Breach that now appeared in the distant horizon in a gyrating green. Nothing he said could change that. He couldn't reason with her—especially since he knew the constant green glow  erupting from the palm of her hand lit up the stone walls of the dungeon matched the light in the distance.

Nor could he admit to Cassandra how he knew the true origin of the Breach, or at least, a strong suspicion. He had to save this Dalish girl from harm, after all, he was the catalyst behind the events that led up to the Breach."You must make her wake up!" Cassandra had shouted in her heavy accent as she stomped out of the room knocking over a table on her way out. "That or I _will_  kill you." That was two days ago.

He would save this girl from Cassandra’s blame. She would not be a victim of superstition. 

Solas caught himself studying his charge. He couldn't help himself from seeing that she was a rare sort of beauty. Her delicate features were reminiscent of the ancient elves he knew. She had what would have been a favored high-bridged nose, set in a regal face.

  _“She must stand out so exotically to all these dull Feraldins,”_ he thought to himself bemused.  It was the first time he had been able to study her in this way. Before she had just been a blur of magic, a body that he had to make  _survive._ Up until now that had seemed impossible. She looked so calm in comparison now to when she first arrived. They had wrapped her in a white cotton robe after cutting her leather armor off in pieces after the thin metal straps had burned off parts of her skin. He and the other healers had poured mana into her, pumping her hopefully full of their own energy.

 _“She is beautiful,”_ he had to admit to himself before he could censor his thoughts.  She had curled up on her left side looking towards him. Her breathing had grown more confident, and he could sense her pulse returning to a strong thumping rhythm. The color of her cheeks had returned, framed by her long-blonde hair that fell about her in a cascade of tangled threads.

Solas was startled from his reverie by a moan escaping from the Dalish girl’s lips.  Concerned, he scooted back on the floor, rising to his knees. A pair of startling hazel eyes looked up at him through thick lashes. They were cloudy, confused.

 "Where am I?" a honeyed-pitched voice asked.

He froze as her eyes focused on him. Her hands reached out to him desperately. She was trying to sit up pushing up with all her weight from the dirt floor. The white robe slipped down her shoulder, revealing her left breast with a small, pink nipple. Before he could catch himself, Solas admired the sensual curves of the elf’s body through the thin cloth. Sharply inhaling, he forced himself to avert his eyes as the girl, suddenly self-conscious pulled the robe up around her shoulder.

"Here, I'm so sorry..." he said to her quietly looking away, pulling off the fur wrap he had tied around his shoulders. Just as he was about to wrap it around her shivering body, she screamed.

Solas was being pulled away, guards who had surfaced at the first sign of the Dalish girl’s consciousness were dragging his body slowly away from her. No matter how he resisted, they overpowered him. Closing his eyes he sought to cast a spell, only to feel any empty pool of exhaustion. A hit to his head knocked him out into darkness. He could feel himself fall in a heap on the floor, a sharp hit to a his head from the back of a boot forced him into darkness…

…

**A WEEK LATER**

They had sealed the rift. He had been correct. The last few days he had interminably roamed the halls of the Chantry listening to the whispers to learn more about this mysterious girl. Besides their short introduction, he had not seen the young elf since.

He had certainly thought about her. She was hard not to think about.

Fortunately Cullen and Leliana were loud in their gossip. Both seemed impressed with the elf girl’s tenacity. She had protested some of the confines of her leadership, mostly the claim’s of the Inquisition’s divine intervention of Andraste, but overall seemed an eager and ready leader. Her clan travelled the Free Marches, and she had come to the Conclave on behalf of her Keeper.

Currently, Solas was lurking in one of the prayer niches when the War Room door opened. He had been waiting all afternoon. Quickly, he stepped as far back into the shadow. While he was not a prisoner, he was certainly greeted suspiciously as a “knife-ear” apostate. He watched quietly as Commander Cullen walked out in his knight regalia, Leilana right behind him.

"She says her name is Neria," whispered Leliana.  _Was that amusement Solas heard?_

"Neria," said Cullen darkly, "Just like…?"

"Yes, just like her. Just like the Warden."

"How auspicious." Cullen muttered. "It's funny…she does  _look_ her. At first I thought, I thought that it was her"

"They could be from the same clan…" Leliana mused.

"She is a mage too, perhaps they are related…if only we could ask.." Cullen trailed out.

"That's true…the Warden…she would have been brought to the Circle when she was too young, perhaps—"

"I supposed we will find out." Leliana chuckled.

Solas saw sadness hit the two commanders quickly. " _Of course,"_ he thought. " _They must know the Warden."_

He had heard of this Neira Surana, the former lover of King Allistair. Until the Breach, it was one of the only story you would hear in the taverns of Thedas. She had ended the Blight, only to disappear without warning to the West. The rumors her heard in Haven were dire-it was said that the King had stopped sleeping, sending out spies to look for her. None returned. Even Leliana didn't have an answer.

" _Neria,"_ Solas thought to himself. " _Neria,"_ he said it over and over again. A small smile crept to his lips as he touched his fingers to them. He could feel a hot blush spreading to his cheeks, no matter how he tried to suppress his infatuation he kept returning to that moment in the prison cell when her robe fell open.

 _“She is unlike anyone…I have ever met,”_ he thought to himself as he walked towards the exit of the Chantry, quietly pushing through the dust of incense and age in his bare feet. Standing on the top of the stairs, overlooking Have, he looked towards her cabin under the stars. “ _I must not give in.”_ He crossed his arms firmly. “ _It must be the orb…that is at the root of these…feelings. I will not give in.”_ Sighing sadly, he started his walk back to his cottage.

He would not walk the Fade that night, he was too caught up planning, convincing himself of ways not to think of _her._

_“In another world….”_


	2. Where Did The Tent Go?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Note: Yes, the famed Inquisition tents, the host of so much necessary sexual tension

**CHAPTER TWO**

**6 MONTHS LATER**

Neria Lavellen had quickly adjusted to life Haven. Used to travel, she had spent her first few weeks meeting with and learning from its inhabitants. She came from a clan that had been considered more adventurous than other Dalish tribes—occasionally even traveling to Lothering for trade. She did not fear the unknown, and despite the dire nature of her current circumstances, she was eager to learn as much as possible.

They had recruited other companions, a strange elf named Sera, a Gray Warden named Blackwall, and even a _qunari_ named Iron Bull. Scuttling through the Hinterlands they had worked with the Inquisition agents to close Fade rifts and strike down wolves that had terrorized the countryside. Slowly, they were building up their reserves learning more and more about the region in an effort to discover who had torn the Breach open from the sky.

Besides this mystery, there remained one main fascination to Neria: Solas.

She had tried to get to know the older elf from the start of her stay in Haven, but he remained distant, resistant. She was curious, his naked face marked him as a city elf—but he claimed to be from a small village far away from any place she knew of. He claimed to have taught himself how to walk the Fade. Neria had her doubts. She suspected some elaborate and romantic backstory. Perhaps he had lost his family in the Blight? Perhaps he had fled the Circle? How could she not be curious!

Solas ignored all her attempts of friendships. He would hardly even speak with her. He joked gleefully with Varric, calling him “child of stone” and laughing heartily when the dwarf called him “Chuckles.” Occasionally he would even stay up late to play Wicked Grace with Blackwall and Iron Bull. However, whenever Neria approached him, he would grow sullen. She suspected it had to do with one of their earliest conversations where she had proudly declared her Dalish heritage. Solas had sneered at her dismissing her assertions of the Dalish spirit. “ _Something must have happened to him,”_ she thought to herself. She couldn’t help but take it personally. “ _Maybe…I can still win him over.”_ She was determined.

 That, and she couldn’t deny a certain attraction. Even though Solas looked to be in his early 40s, he was tall with masculine broad shoulders. She had never seen a male elf with such a muscular build. She assumed it must be from his years living in the wilderness. He was so unlike her suitors back home, young men with barely any clue of who they were. Solas walked like he knew who he was.  

They were scouting the  Western edges of the Hinterland countryside for leftover caches from the mages’ rebellion to support the refugees. The region had grown more stable over the last few months as they had almost eliminated both the Templar and Mage camps, establishing several holds for the Inquisition. What had once been dangerous travel had turned leisurely, especially in the early Spring. The local population no longer avoided them, and in most areas the wayward Fade rifts were closed. She had even met briefly with Grand Enchanter Fiona in Val Royeux a few weeks ago. There was hope. 

The hour was late. They need to camp. Walking a little ahead of the group, Neria looked over her shoulder to admire the enigmatic elf.

 “Solas,” she said speaking to him directly. “ _Hahren,_ where do you think we should make camp?’’ Neria picked the title deliberately, Maybe if she demonstrated some respect he would warm to her?

She was met with Solas’ raised eyebrow. There was a strange sort of tension. Blackwall and Iron Bull paused their rendition of a vulgar story about a redhead in a bar. Both men were watching the interaction with a protective stance. No one spoke. While it had surprised the group that the two elves did not bond over their shared heritage, Solas’ attitude towards the Hearld had become an accepted norm.

 Solas shrugged, “Perhaps just a little back by the river we passed…” he paused, before saying in a reluctant staccato“… _da’len_.”

Neria couldn’t help from smiling. The word was an invitation.

\--

Setting up camp they realized they had a problem. Somehow in their trek one of their supply packs had been lost. None of the party members could account for where it had disappeared. What had been three tents were now two. Looking awkwardly to one another they had spent several minute discussing sleeping arrangements.

What was worse, looking up at a dark and swollen sky, was the noticeable prediction that there would be rain.

Blackwall had diplomatically suggested that Neria have a tent to herself and that the men draw straws.

“This is ridiculous!” Neria had interjected. “The Dalish share tents between men and women. What do you think will happen? This will not be a kind storm.” Turning to look intensely at her party members, she noticed that Blackwall had blushed a dark red under his whiskers.

She had an idea.

“I’ll share with Solas, I know that he is the only one here that doesn’t snore,” she said with a wink as Iron Bull roared with laughter.

“Very well,” Solas had said with a shrug before walking off with his staff to examine some sort of plant in the distance.

Both Iron Bull and Blackwall accepted the choice easily. Solas seemed to be indifferent to Neria, if not indifferent annoyed. Every time she intiated conversation with the older elf he had responded in a dry, condescending tone, making it an obvious point to contradict everything the Herald said. Sleeping next to someone with such an unfriendly attitude would certainly create a platonic situation.

\--

Solas was not pleased. So far, in the last few months, he had been able to avoid being alone with Neria. The few brief conversations they had shared in Haven even had taken place in the open air on the porch of his cabin. It had been difficult not to reciprocate Neria’s advances of friendship. Still, he did not trust himself as sometimes late at night he still could not banish the image of her body in the prison cell. He had decided long ago that the easiest course of action was to feign dislike. It had been easy to throw her off with his scorn of the Dalish.

Still, part of him look forward to sharing the tent with her. There was something intimate to the act even if they would never touch. She had gone to bed a few hours earlier exhausted. He knew closing the Fade rifts wore on her more than she let on.

Truth be told, he was worried about her. She didn't eat as much as she should. Varric and Blackwall noticed this, and did their best to coax her into nibbling at the stew they had cooked over the open camp fire. He was glad the two men had taken over as her protectors—a role he would like to have had but couldn't risk with his growing infatuation. Still, even with their nurturing, she had grown too slim. Her once round face had grown thin and started to show the effects of leadership in the edges of her eyes.

 _“Those hazel eyes_ ,” a voice in his head cooed,  “ _those beautiful hazel eyes that looked up at you in that cell._

It was a good thing she seemed to not remember that moment, having never mentioned it, he suspected she had not fully revived yet to fully notice his ardent gaze. It made his performance much easier.

Solas heard a crack in the background. The storm was coming, he had to retreat to the waterproof confines of the tent. With a sigh he pulled the door flap open. Inside he could see Neria curled in a ball, rolled in the warm furs. The rain had started in the background, a calming rhythm of a summer storm.

Her body had tensed up when he entered. She was not sleeping.

Turning from Neria, Solas pulled off the top layer of his tunic. He sat down on the furs on his side of the tent, grabbing a worn book out of his pack in the corner. He was relieved there was a few feet between them. He would be able to get through this night without any misunderstandings.

The rain began to pelt the tent harder. It was fortunate that the tent was made of top quality materials, otherwise this would have been a dreadful evening. He turned open the first page of the book, an interesting tome on theories of what separated this world from the Fade. Perhaps he would journey tonight…

Concentrating he became lost in the first chapter until…

At first he thought the sound was he storm, until he realized what it was: Neira was crying.

What was worse was she was trying to hide it. Her head was covered by thick white lambswool. He could barely hear her, and if he had been anything other than elf, he would have missed the quiet muffled sobs.

Concerned, he gently said " _Da'len_. What is wrong?" _He couldn't help using the endearment._

Neira stirred. She slowly pulled the cover down from her face looking up through tear stained eyes. " _Hahren_ , I'm sorry. I didn't mean…" she trailed off, silently choking back her tears. These were not the tears of sadness,  _"No,"_  Solas thought to himself,  _"These are tears of pain."_

He crouched down next to Neira, pulling the cover carefully down from her face, before he caught himself he began to stroke her hair, making soft sounds to calm her. He was surprised to see how vulnerable she was, her normally jovial face twisted in agony.

"Solas," she cried, "The anchor, it hurts…" She pulled her hand out to show him.

He gasped, the green light pulsated on the surface of her palm. " _She can't hold it in...''_

"I don't…I don't mean to trouble you..I know you…" She paused, looking down before meeting his eyes directly. "I know you don't think fondly of me."

 _If only you knew, Neria,_ he thought to himself.  _If only you knew._

"How long?" he strategically asked in a hushed tone.

"It always hurts—but always more after I close a rift, but today…today we closed two." She began to sit up, the lambswool falling to her waist.

 _""Thankfully she is wearing clothing this time,''_  Solas noted as he took her hand into his own. Closing his eyes he began to follow the pulsing energy with his mana, it felt like he was walking calmly through a stream until he arrived at what felt like a torrent, swept under a waterfall to drown. " _T_ a _king in all that force, it must have caused the flow to stop."_ He pushed through the alchemic line, pushing a blast of his own mana through to allow the magic to flow through her body peacefully.

Neria looked relieved, her eyes closing in relief. "Thank you," she said softly. "That, that is the first time I haven't felt pain since this first happened."

Instantly, Solas was disappointed at himself. He hadn't expected his ruse to have allowed him to miss what she had been feeling. How could he have ignored her this much? How could he have been so irresponsible? How did he always cause others pain and suffering? He looked down at Neria tenderly.

"You should have told me  _da'len,_ " he chided. "I…I could have stopped it much earlier…this was so unnecessary…"

She looked down shyly.

Before he could stop himself he began to lay down his defenses. "Neria, I'm sorry, I've spent so long in the Fade, sometimes I forget kindness. I'm sorry if I pushed you away. Please…let me know if I can help you, please. I am sorry I am not the most patient person."

He could see Neria begin to relax. "Solas," she said quietly, "I'm glad…we can be friends, I thought something might have happened to you with the Dalish…can I ask, what happened for you to hate my people so much? What...what happened to you."

"Nothing with the Dalish. I'm afraid,  _da'len_. This…my shortness doesn't have to do with you," he lied, "my sadness goes much deeper than old hatreds. Maybe one day I will tell you of it. This is not the time."

Neria reached for him in the dark, wrapping her arms around him in a warm embrace. Solas froze in them, stiffening with shock. He knew the Dalish were an affectionate culture, but he knew that this lapse in physical intimacy would cause nothing but heartache and trouble. This was not a good formula, especially in the privacy of the tent.

"Neria. D _a'len. I_ t is very late…shouldn't we attempt to sleep? We wouldn't want Blackwall or Iron Bull to get the wrong idea," he joked with a raised eyebrow

Neria released him slowly, "I'm sorry all these  _shem_ customs of propriety, even sharing tents, us Dalish never think so much of sex in our clan, causes way less problems."

Solas raised his eyebrows even higher over his ice-blue eyes. "Never?"

In fact, he knew it to be the opposite. While the Dalish were open with nakedness and rather affectionate that had more to do with their lack of privacy traveling in a close-knit group. Sex was sacred. While young clan members were encouraged to flirt openly, and court, physical intimacy was a serious gesture. It wasn't that act was exclusive to marriage, exactly, but bonding in that way was never a decision lightly made.  _Probably given the size of those traveling clans too...don't want to be stuck with an ex-lover._

Neria slapped his arm playfully, rolling over into her bedroll. Changing the subject she looked up at him with a lightness that resonated with a beauty of something he had lost long ago. Her eyes were a mixture of hope and innocence reflective in believing the world would change.  _"She's at the age where taboos are miraculously fun."_

" _Hahren_ , tell me a story of the Fade," she eagerly asked.

"Yes, but only one  _da'len_ , it is late." Solas laid down in the roll next to her, turning to face her. He could play this role for her, of a _Hahren_. She would never suspect his true feelings, he could allow this new performance to keep her just as far away as his indifference had. 

"Once," he began, "I was walking along the battlements of Ostegar, looking down over a valley from the top of a tall mountain. I saw the treachery of Loghain, and there in the distance, another elf who was also named Neria ran and cut through the Darkspawn with the future King Allistair…igniting them with the flame of her staff..."

 


	3. Skyhold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More tent tension!

**6 MONTHS LATER**

Solas willed himself to be hopeful as he looked out through the dense blizzard on the edge of the haphazard camp. He could hear Cullen and Cassandra arguing in the background. They had given up Neria for dead. He knew better. The orb that the magister had wielded had been his. The anchor that had attached itself to her hand was of the same matter as his ancient reserves of power.

 Surely, If Neria was dead Solas would have felt it echoed in a deep part of himself.

He had been so close to reclaiming the artifact. Even though he knew that it was an unrealistic to wish that Neria would defeat the overzealous magister, he thought there was a chance. What he hadn’t expected was Neria to selflessly sacrifice herself to save the people of Haven. He was continuously impressed with her. She had a wild spirit unlike anything he had expected from a Dalish. Nor had he expected the archdemon.

Now all he could do was wait. Squinting through the swirling clouds of snow he wondered what had become of the missing elf. Was she buried somewhere, never to escape? Was she struggling to walk through the storm? How would she ever find them? Would he see her again?

\--

The night wore on. Several times Solas thought he had seen the outline of Neria’s familiar figure, only to have it reveal itself as a shadow. The darkness covering the camp was one of death and terror.

\--

 Was that her? Looking at the distant movement nervously, Solas gripped his staff tightly…it could be a wild beast…or perhaps even Corypheus…The figure was coming closer and closer. 

It was unmistakably Neria!

 “Cullen! The Inquisitor! She is Alive,” He shouted behind him. Cullen quickly got to his feet, both men ran to her, their bodies struggling to part the high banks of snow.

Solas was the first to reach her. He gasped to see Neria was wearing nothing but thin leather armor…he could sense her mana reserves had been depleted when he warmed her with small bursts of his own. She must have been keeping herself warm with it. He reached out to her, wrapping them in the warm folds of his sheep wool lined cloak.

Neria fell into him, burying her face into his chest. “Solas,” she whispered weakly before collapsing. He picked her up in his strong arms to carry her back to camp. He would never let her go again.

 -- 

“We need to stop meeting this way _da’len._ ” He joked at Neria when she woke up, his eyes sparkling despite the grim circumstances.

He was glad to see a small smile appear on her face. “ _Da’len_ I was able to revive you, but your injuries…are serious. I need a few days to sort them out. I need you to tell me…”

She was not listening.  Suddenly she remembered where she was, in a flash she was trying to sit up even though she was barely able to speak.

 “Solas…Solas… _Hahren_ it is _you…_ Corypheus…he…he flew off with a dragon,” she would not stop until Solas was able to gently pushed her down and wrap her up in a layer of lambswool.

He began to “shh” her like an elven hearth-mother. “Neria, please, I need you to rest. We saw everything, we know, the Inquisition is already at work. You need to rest…or I’m afraid. I’m afraid you will…”

 _“…die.”_ He thought to himself. He couldn’t help but leave his statement unfinished. She needed to live…or there was no chance of any other’s survival.

Neria’s recovery would not be without work. He had been able to revive her from the grip of hypothermia, but he dared not do more to address her other injuries until she was able to regain some strength. Solas suspected several broken ribs, a few gashes that needed stitching, and a possible concussion.

Reaching down he began to stroke her hair until she fell back asleep.

—

**A FEW DAYS LATER**

 

Neria woke up. She had been feeling stronger, more like herself. She even had been able to make her way around camp earlier in the day. It had been both a blessing and a curse. Words could not express how happy she was to be reunited with her companions and friends, but there had been heavy losses. Everyone was missing a loved one.She was glad to have recruited the mages, it had meant an ample population of healers for the many wounded. If she had chosen differently, many more would have perished.By the lack of sound coming from the camp, Neria knew it must be the middle of the night when only the last patrols stood watch. It was a relief to have a few more hours of sleep before the difficult business of deciding what came next was upon her.

Rolling over in her tiny tent she gasped as she felt her body slam into someone else. Turning she was not surprised to face Solas--who had by now woken up by her thrashing movements.

He had been so worried about her and been checking on her in preternatural amounts. This evening alone, he had checked her vitals no less than seven times.

She had only distracted him by asking her to lull her to sleep with tales of the Fade. Honestly, she had just listened to the sound of his voice. She had trouble following his story due to her rampant fatigue and quickly fell asleep. Apparently he had nodded off as well.

“Neria…I’m sorry…I must have fallen asleep.” He whispered to her, a sheepish look spreading across his face.

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him.   
  
He was starting to sit up when she tugged him back down towards the ground. “ _Hahren_ ,” she implored, “please stay, I don’t like these _shem_ traditions of sleeping alone….the nightmares.” She could tell he seemed uncomfortable, but she selfishly wanted him to stay. Every time she shut her eyes she could replay the townspeople of Haven burning. “Solas,” she continued, “it’s cold, there are no extra tents. Don’t go.”

He didn’t respond except to lay back down besides her. Neria could hear the steady rhythm of his breathing, smelling his distinct scent of cedar and earth. They had never been this close before, except for her single embrace in the tent when he had alleviated the pain of the anchor. 

“Neria, this…” Solas whispered, “will start so many rumors.”

“Is that all you’re worried about?”

“No,” he sighed, “I’m worried about you. You almost died.”

For the first time Neria saw worry cross Solas’ face. She reached out to him in the dark, touching his the outline of his jaw softly. She knew this was crossing the line, but she couldn’t help herself. Nor could Solas, with one swift movement he gathered her into his arms. She could feel Solas’ hot breath as he smelled in the perfume of her hair. His arms tightened around her reassuringly.

…

When Neria woke, she was alone in the tent. Looking next to her she saw a scrap of paper with an outline of a mountain pass. A small drawing of a castle at the end of the meticulously drawn path was labeled with the world "Skyhold" in careful handwriting. 

_"Solas does care..."_

 


	4. Too Much Cider & A Bottle Of Rum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neria really shouldn't listen to Dorian, but all her friend wants to do is help.

**CHAPTER THREE**

**1 Year Later**

“Maker’s tit, what is wrong with that elf?” Dorian asked exasperatedly as he leaned up against the stacks of books in his favorite spot in the library.

Neria looked up at him playfully from one of the velvet-lined chairs. She was curled up with her legs hanging casually off the arm of the chair. Dorian laughed to himself silently, if she had been anyone other than the Herald she would have been scolded.

“Solas? Or Sear?” You have to be more specific my friend,” she said sarcastically.

 Dorian laughed loudly. Still, he was a little irritated. Neria had been dodging his questions lately. He had been trying to talk with her about Solas over the last month. He knew she was hiding something. She was practically giddy whenever the older mage was about.

'Oh come on Neria," Dorian scolded, "You know what I am talking about. Solas practically turns into a ghastly red beet while you are around.”

"He does not Dorian," Neria retorted with anger-pursed lips. "Dorian, you know I look up to him, he's so knowledgeable."

He had recently shared his thoughts with Iron Bull over a late night drink only to have the mercenary quickly dismiss them. _“She just looks up to him, what does she call him? Teacher in that elf-tongue?“_ Sera had joined in from across the table, calling out drunkenly while spilling her ale on the floor drunkenly. “ _He probably just inspires her Lady Hearld to be more…elfy! Elfy! Elfy! Elfy!_ The conversation ended abruptly when Sear had taken out a dagger and repeatedly stabbed the table muttering “ _Efly! Elfy! Elfy!”_ with each thrust of the knife until all three drunken companions had been kicked out with an undignified push through the door.

“Don’t kid me Neria, I know someone’s hot for teacher.” He crossed his arms and tried his best to look sinister.  Watching his friend’s blush confirmed his suspicious. He knew he was always right.

“Dorian!” she squealed throwing a book in his direction while stuttering ”that’s…you…shut up.”

 “You can’t even finish your sentence my dear. It’s OK. Really, I won’t tell anyone. Tell me. I watched you on our journey to Skyhold. Has he started sleeping in your quarters yet? Might explain the drab decorations.”

Dorian knew he went to far watching Neria’s face darken.

 “I’m sorry my friend,” he said softly, “What happened?”

“I just don’t understand him Dorian,” she confessed, “he seems so indifferent one moment, and then the next day he is nothing but attentive. I don’t know what I am doing wrong…”

“You are doing nothing wrong my dear. That elf is just a moody bastard.”

 “He’s…I…I wish he would just get over whatever is holding him back. The way he looks at me. The time we spend together. I don’t understand why he won’t… _act._ ”

 Dorian looked at his friend. She was obviously in need of a break. They had survived the winter at their new stronghold only thanks to Josephine’s connections, and Cullen’s ability to manage their small resources. Fortunately, as summer arrived things had improved and the number of recruits increased dramatically. Renovations had started on the castle, and supply shipments were regularly delivered. With the return of each away mission, he was always surprised at how much..more…organized everything seemed. He had even helped Neria select tapestries and other decorations for the castle.

Still they were not quite safe. Rumors circled around the war table. Corypheus and the Red Templers were amassing an army. The Inquisition had plans, certainly, to defend any onslaught of force, but they still had to find more support. He knew Neria was tired most of the time. Days where they were relaxing at Skyhold were rare. She was normally traveling, negotiating, and unraveling the unknown.

Dorian felt like the one thing he could give his friend was levity. He often teased her like he did his younger sisters at home. He felt lucky for their bond, especially after surviving a rather scaring trip through time at Redcliffe. They had spoken of this over the last year. He knew that she confided to him the most, especially her more candid thoughts. He alone knew about Solas’ infatuation, he had been with her in the alternate future where the elder mage had almost cried when he saw Neria. “You are so beautiful,” Solas of the future had said.

Dorian was suspicious of Solas, but he wanted his friend to be happy. He had sat with her many late nights dissecting Solas’ behavior. Neria wouldn’t admit to it, but he knew her feelings were strong. She also knew that she missed some of the courtship rituals of her clan. She had told him about some of the suitors she had left behind, how she wished she was soon married, even if she was still so young.

Sometimes he caught her on their trips weaving flower crowns, singing to herself romantic sounding elvish tunes. _Sometimes I catch…Solas watching her too._

This week in particular she seemed nostalgic. She was withdrawn in conversation unless it was to talk with Cassandra about a trashy romance novel, or gossip with Josephine. Varric seemed to be one of the only ones that could cheer her up at dinner with tales of lovers. She loved anything to do with Alistair and the Warden.

Dorian knew what would cheer her up.

“Neria, my lovely friend,” he said dramatically, “will you accompany this poor man to the Harvest Ball! I just can’t imagine a better date.”

 Neria blushed. She knew that Dorian had no interest in women, still she enjoyed the attention, she turned to him beeming.

 Dorian couldn’t resist drawing out the escapade. It was, after all, in his nature to be over the top. He got down on one knee. “Oh, famed Hearald! Please join this unworthy  _vint_ to the first annual Skyhold Harvest Ball! They will speak of this for ages, the scandal!"

Neria covered her mouth giggling. "Dorian...I would love to, only I don't know what to wear!"

"That is easy, my dear," Dorian paused, "Let's make it something to make Solas eat his heart out."

\--

Solas was only grudgingly attending the Harvest Ball. He was also terribly late. While he was not a complete recluse, he spent most of his time at Skyhold either in his study looking over old elven manuscripts or painting elaborate frescos on the wall. Still, he knew as one of the Hearld's companions he had to make an appearance.  _"Besides it was a chance to see her..."_

While they had continued to grow close, it was not without some ambiguous areas. Neria was young and often he could tell unsure of how exactly to approach him. He was gentle, but there were two sides to her. There was the confident Inquisitor and the blushing young woman. The first approached him carefully, as the second attempted to seduce him awkwardly. 

He was infatuated with both sides of her, but considering their age difference, and well..his history...he had not let the romance develop any further than their night in the tent holding each other right after the destruction of Haven. 

Still, sometimes he slipped. The Tevinter mage often teased him of this when no one else was around. Besides Solas' rags, which was one of Dorian's favorite subjects, Solas' blush whenever Neria was present was a common discussion. Still, Dorian knew his boundaries, and Solas suspected that he only brought up the subject because he was protective of his friend. However, he did wish that sometimes his scowl would make the over-the-top mage shut up.

Tonight though he was free to enjoy himself without his companion's judgements. The Harvest Ball was one of his favorite traditions. While it was nothing compared to the ancient festivals, he enjoyed the pageantry. He could smell the burning of bonfires in the distance of Skyhold's cavernous garden where the festivities were taking place. The air was a melody of dancing, laughter and fun. Casks of hard cider had been broken open in the early evening, and most of the attendees had lost themselves to dancing and the thought of another's touch. 

He knew that tonight was a release of rules, a night to be  _wild._ And best of all, he was able to wear a costume!

Dorian wouldn't mock him tonight. He wore a dark blue velvet double and pantaloons. He hid his face with a bronze cast wolf mask. He covered his shaved head with a velvet scarf, something Josephine had advised him was the fashion of Val Rouyeux. 

He walked towards the center of the celebration, picking up a cold tankard of cider. He slipped it slowly...looking out at the crown...until with a short audible gasp he saw her. 

It had to be her. 

And she was beautiful. 

He couldn't stop looking. 

Neria was laughing playfully surrounded by several of the younger men. Her dress was nothing but suggestive, draped in sheer ivory layers that fell in layers that clung to curves as she moved. While the skirt was long the bodice was made of weaved ribbons that plunged scandalously low in the front, outlining her small breasts. The lines of her _vallaslin_ poked through looking like embroidery.

What made her stand out, perhaps most, was her hair. Artfully her white-blonde locks were tied around small halla antlers, small strands escaping down her back. A gold Orleasian mask completed the masquerade. 

He couldn't resist. Solas walked towards her slowly. He would regret this.

Bowing before Neria, he extended his hand, "Lady Hearld."

Neria looked up with a sly smile. She took his hand firmly in her own, squeezing tightly. 

Who had to be Dorian in a ridiculous slashed red velvet and leather number (with a, yes, had to be, stuffed cod piece) stopped laughing. He gazed over curiously. Covering his mouth to keep from himself from what most be a loud outburst. His face red from drinking. 

"Care to dance," Solas asked bodly. 

"Of course."

He spun her in his arms, escorting her over to the dancing with a hand on her lower back. Solas felt almost indecent feeling the slivers of skin exposed through the ribbons. The music had turned into a slow and mournful reel. Without delay he took Neria's marked hand in his own, turning her gracefully in a slow waltz. 

"Solas," she whispered, "I didn't know you were this  _adept_..at dancing."

He was glad for the mask, for he could feel his face burning. 

"I'm full of surprises. "

Suddenly he could feel Neria stumble.  _How much has she had to drink?_

Neria confessed right away, "I'm...I'm...going to be sick..Solas...I'm going to be sick."

He was a little amused at the panic that crossed her face. Elves generally didn't have a high tolerance, and the Dalish especially eschewed drinking large amounts. Dorian had probably waylaid the poor young thing with his borderline dipsomaniac habits. 

"Ah," he scolded, "Our young friend Dorian's influence I suppose."

Solas drew her back into his chest, holding her up. He knew this was too far, but with her admission, he knew that she needed support. He could feel how much she struggled to hold herself up. She fell into his embrace resting her head on his chest with a pained expression on her face. 

"Don't blame...Dorian. He just..is...I'm going to be sick." Neria continued.

"Oh  _da'len,"_ he whispered, "What will I do with you?"

The question was not suggestive. Solas was annoyed. As much as he cared for Neria, she was acting...well she was acting her age. 

"Solas...I need..to go to my quarters. I can't. You need to help me."

_Oh yes...he would regret this._

_\--_

Twenty minutes later he had successfully carried Neria to her room. They had stopped occasionally for her to vomit in the shrubbery en route. All the other companions, including Cassandra event, were too drunk to help. He had found Varric passed out at a table. He certainly wasn't planning anything untoward, but he certainly didn't want anyone to see him, an apostate mage, carrying up the young Dalish girl in his arms. He was careful both for his sake and hers. 

"Just a little bit longer, we will make it to your room," He reassured Neria. 

Upon arrival he had set her down and she flung herself onto the bed like a pile of rags. He proactively grabbed a bucket. Without delay he helped her aim away from her dress as she retched. 

"This..is...so awful." She muttered

"No worries young one. It will pass."

She began to pull at her hair. "Solas, I need to get these antlers out of my hair...I am not a deeeeeeeer." She began to pull at the pins in exaggerated motions, as both antlers fell to the floor with a resounding thud. He didn't intervene, except to pull her hair as she threw up in the bucket again.

"I'm...my dress." She looked at him seductively. 

Solas froze. He was not going to entertain any intrigue. 

"Neria, stop. Enough."

She looked up as though struggling to remember what was going on. 

He groaned, she had obviously blacked out. 

“Solas…I don’t know how to untie it” she began to demand.

“Even so…shall I get a maid?”

‘’No, just, grab my robe from the chair.”

He did promptly returning it to her. She wrapped it around her body, squirming underneath, the silken folds of the dress pushed to the floor. She sighed in relief as everything was undone.

Solas sighed in relief.

“Are you going to be sick again?” He asked.

“No, no. I think…I’ll be fine…I just need sleep.”

He knew she was too sick to leave alone unattended. He thought briefly of seeing if there was anyone else that could sit with her, but he didn’t want to take the risk of leaving her for even an hour. He had certainly remembered partners in his youth just as drunk, who had not faired so well after a nightlong party. He knew that she drank rarely, and this certainly had to have hit her system hard. Still, he did not blame her, such a mistake only needed to be made once.

Solas gently pushed Neria’s body over in the bed, pulling down the stuffed coverlet to cover her.   

“Solas…” Neria began trailing off…

 “Yes?” he asked curiously. 

“I know you have feelings for me."

He looked down at her.

“Solas,” she continued, “We’ve never talked about that time….that time in the Fade.”

 He had known this conversation was coming for a while.

Solas blushed despite the cold air: “I suggest you sleep, _da’len_.”

Neria turned over away from him, a disgruntled groan escaping her pursed lips.

"I knew...I knew you would dance...with me t-tonight." she slurred at him. 

"Is that so young one?" He asked shortly.

"Dorian said, you wouldn't be able to resist..."She broke off passing out to sleep.

He rose slowly, walking away from the bed to the brocade lounge chair. Picking up a book that Neria had left flung open on the floor he started to page through the musty tomb. He was unpleased to see it was the book he had leant her last week, a tomb on Fade magic, now damaged from her wayward tossing...and with a wine stain on several of the pages he now flipped through.

He sighed. Looking around the room he could see the earlier preparations of the Inquisitor—and who he assumed must be Dorian—empty wine glasses were left carelessly about like knick knacks amongst exotic fabrics strewn across the floor like tropical foliage.  _Was her entire aim to seduce me?_

Neria’s undignified snores rose in the air, Solas could relax. He would stay up with her a bit longer.

She must be intoxicated. She never snored.

He was amused at how much time he seemed to spend with her while she was sleeping. To be more specific, he was amused at how much time he spent with her while she was sleeping _while they were not_ in the Fade. In fact, when at Skyhold she seemed to fall asleep on a chair in his study two or three nights a week after joining him after all of the castle’s business had been settled. Sometimes she would read quietly, other times she would watch him paint as though in a trance. The two never talked about it with each other, as though it would call attention to how inappropriate the intimacy of their shared silence was.

That and the kiss.  _She was trying to seduce him._

 _The Kiss._ How could he forget the kiss. It had been impulsive, a mistake. It was not that he regretted the act, no—he was frightened. It had unlocked too many emotions in him. He could no longer keep his infatuation under the surface.

It had only been a week. The first two or three days after even he had been uncharacteristically giddy. It was as though he was young again. He caught himself humming in the Chantry garden. Blackwall had even commented on it when Solas was too distracted to best him at cards. Now, however, enough time had past for Solas to understand the gravity of what had happened.

Neria had asked him to show her what the Fade was like. He wasn’t quite sure how she had convinced him. Purely, academic, she had claimed.

Looking back, he couldn’t be so sure. While Neria operated with mostly earnest intentions, she had these moments of slyness. He had first attributed these to Dorian’s rambunctious influence—but one could only blame the Trevintor for so much.

There they were then, walking through Haven. He had recalled to her for the first time the details of her arrival in the prison, the closing of the Breach when…

…when he stumbled and finally confessed that at her arrival “he felt the whole world change.”

She had grabbed him then, leaning in before he could stop her, kissing him with such ardor, such passion. He pulled away, only to reach out for her, pulling her in for kiss after deep kiss. He closed his eyes to picture the moment again, as though he could taste her mouth. 

He had to be more careful now. He had to figure a way to end this with no hurt feelings. Before the kiss he was sure that the feelings were one-sided. Neria was young, any infatuation she might have he hoped was just a passing dalliance. He had been hopeful that the dashing Dorian, or steadfast Cullen would capture her attention. While it would have been a kind of torture to watch the romance unfold, it would be better for her in the long run. To be honest, he as beginning to see that his passion was not just lust, but something much deeper. Neria captivated him in a way that he had not felt...he had not felt since before he had awoken from his century long slumber. He had lived to see the rise and fall of nations, but in this time, in this body, he was beginning to  _love_ her. 

He loved her. He finally admitted it. 

Even if he couldn't love her. 

He had to end this. He had to end this quickly. 

 


	5. Shut Up, Solas

**A MONTH LATER**

Neria stood overlooking the river the flowed through the Exalted Plains. They were camping for the evening on the outskirts of the one of the Dalish camps after trudging most of the day through the rough terrain from the Inquisition’s camp on the outskirts of the territory. She had stolen away from her Dalish brethren for a moment of peace. In the distance she could hear Iron Bull and Dorian laughing around the campfire exchanging tales of horror and bravado with the tribe’s storyteller.  

She smiled to herself—in times of war, old prejudices died quickly.

While the Dalish clan had greeted them skeptically at first, they had gradually won them over through small acts of kindness, and regular gifts of meat and metal. She could tell the two camps felt safer camping near one another with the instability in the area.

Neria was confused. To use the word was an understatement. Since their arrival at Skyhold she had felt her relationship with Solas deepening. His coldness had given way to affection that at first she thought of as watchful, but then she caught on that it was more. She couldn’t say she wasn’t pleased.

 Since she had been swept up in the turmoil of the Breach, it’s closing, and then the surfacing of Corypheus, her life had become to take on new and unexpected turns. Her attraction to Solas, at least 20 years her senior, was one of them. Neria suspected he was not what he seemed. She knew he was no demon—no maleficent spirit—but she could not determine what he was or where he had come from.

There was one thing she did know, and that was he was, to put it as Dorian and Iron Bull did: a moody elf bastard.

One minute she could feel him opening up, responding to her affections, the next, he went back to ignoring her except for business.

Her confusion with Solas was slowly giving away to annoyance. They were in the Exalted Pains because of him after all. He had asked her rather pitifully yesterday morning to travel with her and save one of his friends from the Fade. She couldn’t resist…of course she wanted to help…especially if she would be rewarded with him letting down his guard again…

 Ever since the Harvest Ball he had been so removed, refusing to travel with her and spending time alone in his study. At night when she went to visit him he was nowhere to be found. She had confronted him, only to be met with scolding: “Neria, I must study,” “Neria, I have work to attend to,” and the one that irked her the most, “Neria, shouldn’t you see if Dorian needs something?”

 She his wasn’t quite sure what had changed. Had she said too much while she was drunk? He wouldn’t tell her. He wouldn’t even talk about kissing her in the Fade.

Sighing she resigned herself not to think of Solas. Tomorrow, they would cross the river and rescue Solas’ friend. Whatever otherworldly mystery which preoccupied him would reveal itself. She couldn’t control his emotional whims.

The air was heavy and thick. The smell of burning from the northern areas was blowing along with the wind. Overheated, she stripped off her boots and walked to the banks of the river to soak her feet in the cold water. She sat in the cold sand, enjoying a few minutes where she didn’t have any immediate demands on her attention.

All of sudden the crickets near her went silent. Someone was coming. She could feel the hair rising on her neck in fear, turning she saw a figure approach her, the outline of broad shoulders and strong gait was unmistakable. It was Solas.

He raised his hand to calm her. “Neria,” he said in low register, “I didn’t mean to startle you, only to warn you of what we might find tomorrow.”

She looked up at him, beckoning for him to sit next to her in a patch of try grasses. She watched as he gracefully sat, she thought even his mundane movements seemed elegant to her.

“What are you worried about Solas?” she asked, noting they had returned to first names, no endearments.

“I fear…I fear that what we will find will no longer resemble the Spirit I once knew…walking the Fade this afternoon I felt unrest, such anger. I don’t know if I can return to that place tonight.”

“Then…then let’s wait out the night.” She suggested raising her eyebrow suggestively _. Maybe he would respond?_

 Solas crinkled his nose like he always did when he was annoyed or upset.

“Neria, this is not a game!” He growled.

“Solas, I just want to be helpful!”

“This isn’t helpful, this isn’t some sort of drunken romp of Dorian’s.”

Neria could feel the tension that had been building over the last few weeks in the undertones of Solas’ rage. She began to cry silently, a few tears running down her face. She indignantly stood up facing the elf at her full—although rather short—height.

“Solas! I have had enough” she could hear herself screaming. The laughter in the distance of the camp stop, she could feel eyes on her.

He swallowed, crossing his arms impatiently. He put a hand up as though to silence her.

“NO!” she kept screaming, “First you ask me to come here, to save your friend, and then you are a miserable _asshole._ What do you want fro me? You lecture me, you tell me things I already know. I know that this is no romp. What the fuck is your problem”

 She paused, looking at him for an answer, continuing when he gave none but a blankly staring face, “You don’t know…everything. You ignore me, you belittle me for months, and then…then you open up. What is your problem? _You kissed me and then pretended it didn’t happen!”_

In the background she could hear both the catcalls of Iron Bull and the gasp of Dorian. The younger elves snickered. Solas slowly rose, backing away from her.

He started to walk away. Turning only to sneer: “I am not your plaything. I am not yours to try and seduce. This is not a game.”

Neria lost it, she screamed, “I might be half your age _ha-h-ren._ But at least I know what I want!” Neria’s tears continued down her face.” She turned on her heel, stomping off towards the sea of aravels and gawking faces. She didn’t stay to watch Solas stand speechless at the bank of the river, or gather her forgotten boots and walk off into the night…

 

**4 MONTHS LATER**

 Neria sat at the desk in her room pushing through stacks of paper. It was early evening on a spring afternoon and sunlight pleasantly spilled across the vellum pages she eagerly flipped through. Even her scholarly activities could not distract her from her uneasy feelings she had carried over the last few months since her fight with Solas in the Exalted Plains. He still had not returned even after they had successfully freed his Spirit friend from her miserable fate.

 She still was embarrassed thinking about the scene she had caused, even if she intuitively knew that Solas had needed to be confronted on his uncertainty. Still, even now she could feel the heat rise to her face when she replayed the words she had hurled at him. _The way he looked at me that morning…it was almost the same way he looked at those mages that had summoned the spirit._

 While her words had been true, so had some of his. They had cut her. She had been playing with him like she had the younger men of her clan. As the Keeper’s second she had a line of suitors who all were focused on winning her affections. They had called her the white wolf, her flirting daring and aggressive. She had thought the same routine would work on Solas. She had guessed wrong…very badly. She didn’t know what had happened to Solas to make him so removed from this world, so focused on the past…but it had to have…been devastating.

 “There is a sea of blood, her body is on the ground asking for vengeance, but even you with all your power cannot save her,” Cole had darkly revealed in his unprompted ramblings, “She is dead and can no longer hear her children. Your hands are covered in dark warm liquid…everyone will blame…”

 Solas had hurriedly hushed him, “Cole, please anything but that… you can’t help.”

Neria couldn’t help wondering what Cole described…maybe a wife? He certainly was old enough to have been married. Children? Probably. Had he lost them all?

She couldn’t deny it.  Neria missed Solas—and as much as she hated to admit it, she needed him. She sighed as she looked at the pile of old manuscripts she had taken from his desk. She knew she needed his help to decipher the ancient glyphs. As Leliana had pointed out, besides a few former experts that had lived in the Circle (who were probably now either dead or missing) no one had such a command of ancient elven as Solas did. Skyhold had tried to help her unravel their mysteries. She was glad to have allied with the mages, she had learned so much, however, the largely human army had little time to care about the mystical rubbish of Ancient Arlathan. Still…Solas had mentioned the orb that Corypheus carried was an old relic…maybe if she could find a description in these pages she could come closer to defeating him…

It was strange for her to need someone.

Still, it was almost dinnertime. She was hungry. She was always hungry…

She got up quickly from her chair. She was excited to join the others in the main hall for dinner. After traveling almost the entire winter she would treasure the few weeks she would be able to stay at Skyhold. Over the last few months there had been victories. She, Blackwall, Vivienne and Cassandra had foiled Corphyeus’ attempts at gathering an army…liberating the Gray Wardens. As much as she had hated to, she had sent them far away…she couldn’t risk the magister’s influence on their order.

She was still shaken from the battle, her journey through Redcliff hadn’t even been this terrible…but she was grateful for more answers.

They had come to her in another trip through the Fade.  There were no known individuals that had entered the Fade and returned…twice. There had been loses, yes, Stroud had died nobly….she was still shaken…

They had just returned last night. The trip back had been slow, she had been able to compartmentalize some of the damage, but she had hoped so desperately that Solas would be in his study on her return. Like every other homecoming she had tried to escape notice as she ran to his study. Would she ever see him again? Where was he? Even Leliana was worried. She wished he was here more than anything—even if it was selfish. How she would like to tell him what the Black City had looked like on the horizon…

Sighing, she began to walk through the hallways. Neria was pleased at the repairs that had been made in her absence; they were entertaining more and more nobles, gaining more and more power. Soon, they would be traveling to the court of Orlais…

Walking through the dark courtyard, she walked out onto the steps that overlooked the central entrance….was that…it was…

“Solas,” she whispered out loud.

Her immediate impulse was to rush, but she stopped herself from running. She would let him approach her.

Towards the entrance she could see him standing at the gate laughing with Cole. She couldn’t hear what was being said, but Cole gesticulated wildly the way he did when he said something provocative. How was it always at the worst moments? She swore he somehow did it on purpose. Solas froze, looking in her direction he confirmed that Cole must have spoken of one of her deepest, darkest secrets.

Solas smiled, waving. She waved back. He had to have made peace with what she had said if he greeted her so warmly. Why else would he walk towards her so quickly?

“Neria…” he began almost sheepishly, looking up to her from the bottom of the stairs.

“Where were you…I…was worried” she replied as he climbed one star after another.

_Was that a limp she saw? He seemed to be leaning on his staff more than usual. Maybe he was just tired._

“No need…to worry…” he said quietly as though reading her mind.

She cut him off, reaching out for his arm tenderly….”Solas.”

She could feel his hand touching her face softly. This was the touch of a lover. She had craved this. Making eye contact for the first time in months she stared up into his blue eyes feeling nothing but vulnerability. There was some sort of new understanding between the two of them. _Was his heart fluttering the same way?_

Solas broke the silence…”We shouldn’t talk here…we should go somewhere else,” he gestured to the always present onlookers who couldn’t help but be curious over his return.

Nodding, she agreed trailing off “Yes…” Gaining courage by the way she caught him looking at her with a bemused smile, she continued grabbing his hand before he could stop her…”My room…its…”

 If nothing had started rumors before this, certainly the Herald of Andraste leading an apostate mage boldly through the throne room, past screaming merchants, one curious Varric and half a dozen servants readying the evening meal did. Turning to one of them to say, “Send dinner up, but after we are not to be disturbed…” inspired several tavern songs that would follow her for the rest of her life.

 


	6. Reunited

A FEW MINUTES LATER

Neria and Solas stood silently on the balcony overlooking the mountain pass.They had been standing there for what felt like hours watching the sun set over the mountain pass in a pastiche of orange and pink. There was much to talk about, but neither wanted to start.

Neria was worried. Given their last encounter, the things that she had said…she was worried that Solas had returned to end things…Fidgeting, Nereia couldn’t take it anymore. Without looking Solas’ direction she hesitantly began, “I was afraid you wouldn’t come back.”

“I had…much to think about,” replied Solas curtly.

Worry crept into Neria’s heart. He is going to end it She turned to him quickly to speak, but she was surprised to be interrupted by Solas’ hands tightening around her slim waist. Tentatively, he leaned in for a kiss, touching his lips lightly with his own.

He pulled their bodies gently together. His kisses deepening as she responded passionately. This was not like their dreamy tingling kiss in the Fade. She was absorbed in the taste of his tongue, and the way he wound his fingers through her hair. A small moan escaped her lips, which Solas took as an invitation to trace the lines of her throat and neck with his mouth.

Their bodies moved against each other, Neria pushed up against his body and growing need, winding a leg around him. Solas began to move his hands over her waist, pulling her as close as possible. Three years of building tension was evaporating,…she couldn’t wait any longer…she lightly began to pull up his tunic…nothing could…stop them….until

Until a loud bang echoed from the next room, “Inquisitor?” A curious voice asked, “Inquisitor, we brought you dinner.”

Solas groaned quietly in her ear, gently untangling their bodies. “Later,” he whispered in her ear. He laughed when she rolled her eyes. Life in Skyhold was amazing, but there were eyes everywhere.

 

“Thank you,” she called walking into her airy chambers after fixing her hair. The two maids had brought up a few dishes of bread, crumbling cheese, fruit and slices of left over roast. One was preparing her table with two plates, while the other filled two goblets of wine, pausing to wipe a way an escaping drop of liquid from the pitcher

Their eyes widened as Solas walked in the room behind her. Neria knew there were rampant rumors regarding his absence. Dorian had told her that some of them were borderline lurid, ranging from pregnancy to demons. Two apostate elven mages, how could there not be great stores?

She cleared her throat, assuming an authoritative stance “Solas has just returned from a mission for Leliana. We welcome him back to Skyhold.” The two maids looked up, curtseying as they exited the room. They walked quickly as though they couldn’t leave fast enough.

“I see my absence has been observed, “ he laughed.

“Yes…well,” Neria said curtly, turning to look at him again. “I feel like I gave you a good send off….Solas, where did you go?”

He spoke quietly, “I wandered for a time, looking for my friend. Spirits don’t die exactly, but she did not remember me when I found her. After that, I…thought…I thought about my life before coming here.”

“You didn’t need to mourn alone.” She reached and took his hand in her own. “Solas, I know I’m young, and these aren’t the best circumstances. I don’t care what it is that holds you back…you’re here now. I see the way you look at me.”  
She looked at him expectantly, waiting for an answer.

She was met with him looking at her curiously. She could tell he was deep in thought. He paced about slightly, which was awkward with a now more obvious limp.

Truth be told, looking at him in the flickering candlelight of her room, she was worried about him. She could tell his adventures had not been kind, he looked like someone who had—well slept outside for the last few months. His muscular frame looked smaller as though he had not eaten enough for weeks. His eyes, while warmer than usual, looked exhausted.

“Solas…you look, “ she changed the subject laughing, “terrible.”

She laughed harder as he turned to her grinning. “It was not a good journey.”

Neria took his hand and led him to one of the chairs at her table. He sunk down with a sigh. She couldn’t help generously piling his plate with food. She had expected him to ravenously but he gestured to her to sit across from him, before delicately picking up his utensils to eat delicate bite after delicate bite. Josephine was jealous of the effortless ability he had when it came to dining.

“You always are so elegant. Where did you learn such graceful table manners? Neria asked quizzically.

Solas crinkled his nose, looking up, “One never knows what one will learn in the Fade…I…this is not what I want to talk about.”

“What do you want to talk about then?” Neria demanded.

“The anchor.”

“The anchor?’’

“Yes.”

“Oh,” she sighed disappointedly, “Always the anchor. It’s a rather marvelous green color. Sometimes, in the words of Iron Bull, ‘fry those fucking demons’ with it.”

Solas laughed while delicately spreading butter on a hunk of bread. He had eaten at least two platefuls of food, and was working on eating another.

“Has the anchor changed you? What were you like before?” Solas asked looking up at her, crossing his hands across his chest.

She leaned in, “I was the same in spirit if that is what you were asking.”

“That is.”

“Why?”

“You are not what I expected of the Dalish.”

“What did you expect?”

“You show a remarkable ability to help others, a dedication to this cause, and a way of seeing that looks past preconceived notions. I never thought the Dalish would be capable of producing one such as yourself.”

“You give us no credit.”

“Perhaps not.” He looked up at her then, his serious face melting into something much different. Something she had seen before. He looks like he is undressing me with his eyes.

“Solas?” She asked playfully raising an eyebrow.

She was self-conscious. She had lovers before, but never one like this. All of the other men she had flirted with, or entertained a relationship seemed so unsure. Solas was disarming. She knew that his feelings ran deep, that much was certain, but she didn’t quite know what to do with them. Every attempt she made at flirting was always shut down so quickly.

“You are so beautiful,” Solas said interrupting her thoughts, “And I have not forgotten the kiss.” He stood then. Was he going to leave?

“Don’t go.” She said.

“Go? It would be kinder in the long run, but…I can’t go. I’m sorry for before, I should…I was conflicted. You are so young. I am a fool.”

“You’re not a fool.”

She watch Solas sigh. He looked so tired. He slumped in his chair. She could see a tear in his sleeve revealing a gash. He needed some healing salve.

“You might be a fool depending on what did that to you,” she joked gesturing at the wound.

“Oh this…yes. I was rather careless and ran into a bear.”

“From the looks of it, I expected at least a dragon. Here let me help you.”

“Thank you,” he said wearily shutting his eyes, “I am very tired.”

She stood and led him over to her bed. She had recently purchased a new one in Val Royeux. It was a decadent splurge, but one she was please with. This one was of Fereldin make, with large red curtains that had kept her warm throughout the winter months. The castle was nothing but drafty.

“I see you have a new bed?” Solas flirtatiously said, bouncing on it to test the spring. “It’s been so long since I’ve slept in a bed.”

She could feel a blush spreading across her cheeks, “So you expect to be sleeping here?”

 

Solas grinned before pulling her close again. He was kissing her just as ardently before, his tongue separately her lips. Her body was reacting to his independently of her thoughts, she couldn’t help reacting as his hands rubbed her smooth flesh gently.

She was fumbling with the ties on his tunic, straining to remove his clothes as fast as possible. “Solas,” she moaned, “please… I want you.”

He groaned, rolling her over to pin her with his body. Neria’s hips rose to meet his. He drew back for a moment to look deeply into her eyes. Neria saw so many emotions flickering under the surface: turmoil, frustration—but mostly hunger .She pushed up hard with her hips, intertwining her legs around his.

Solas broke the kissing to pull Neria’s shirt over her head exposing her two small breasts. She felt the cold air passing over her body, only to be warmed by Solas’ mouth as he kissed one breast and then the other greedily. Hastily she pushed him up grabbing at his tunic again.

“So hasty,” he smiled.

She ignored him pulling up his shirt over his head to be met with his well-muscled chest. In awe she delicately traced his well defined abs. He was so handsome. With a new burst of confidence she began to kiss his jawline and to suckle his ears.

Solas rewarded her with a groan. Throwing her playfully over the bed he stripped off her trousers, growling as he threw them on the floor. She pulled up to her, but was pushed back down on the bed again as he kissed her again with a new ferocity.

“Ar lath ma vhenan.” He whispered in her ear adoringly.

“Ar lath ma vehnan’ she echoed looking up into his eyes.

The two melted into a dance of passion. Neria couldn’t wait any longer, she tugged at the rest of Solas clothes until they were completely naked, flesh touching flesh. She could feel Solas’ need pushing against her thigh, teasingly at her slit.

He pulled back, “This is your first time.” It was a question not a statement.

“Solas, Now. Please. I want you.”

With no delay he thrust up into her, gently at first, a flash of pain gave way to rolls of pleasure as their bodies met. With every thrust Solas filled Neria up until she could no longer think, everything was blurred in a mixture of sweat and moans. She felt as though she was being pushed out of her body, clawing at the sheets, her body clenched around Solas tightly as she came… Solas accelerated in his pace calling out her name wildly as joined her.


	7. Truth

**A FEW HOURS LATER**

 Solas was patiently allowing Neria to tend to his minor injuries. He was always surprised by her focus on whatever she was working on. Sometimes it bordered on obsessive. When they had finally separated their bodies, she insisted on studying and treating every wound he had collected on his journey. He was not used to his mortal form after such a long sleep, he hadn’t even thought of treating the scratches.

 He smiled. For the first time in centuries he felt lightness to living. Looking up at the young elf sitting next to him at the bed he sighed contentedly. His wounds after running into a bear were not serious, mostly superficial but he couldn’t deny how much enjoyed Neria’s touch as she meticulously rubbed slave into ever gauge, her mana tracing each wound to prompt the skin to knit quickly. They were both still unclothed after their romp.

 He was still replaying the moments from earlier when Neria cheerfully interrupted him, “All done!” He turned to her kissing her casually. He was so enraptured at this new privilege: to kiss her on whim.

 The room was almost completely dark except for a sliver of moon casting itself across the floor. He knew at this point all of the business of Skyhold would be over. It was the hour where silence bordered on sacredness. . They had not spoken very much in the aftermath of their passion. He was surprised. Neria normally chatted away non-stop.

 She broke away from his touch, grabbing a silken robe around her body. He lay back on the bed to watch her as she picked up around the room, pausing to light some of the candles on the various tables with touch of her fingers. She was so unaware of how beautiful she was. She started humming a soft song. _Was that…They still sang that song…_

 _“_ Do you know the words?” He asked quietly.

 Neria looked up quizzically, “There are words?”

 “It is one of the greatest love ballads of all time. It tells to story of when Mythal placed the moon in the sky so that the sun would have a true reflection to love.”

 “Who taught them to you?” She asked curiously.

 He couldn’t lie anymore. He had to reveal to her some of the truth—if only to save her from its inevitable implications. “There was a woman once, I loved her deeply. She would sing for me.”

 Neria froze, walking over to the bed. She sat down looking up at him kindly, her hazel eyes flickering almost gold in the light. She put her hand on his.

 He felt guilty telling this story in such a way. He knew Neria probably assumed it was the last Blight he was referring to. Still, he wanted to be close to her, he wanted to tell her of some of his earlier life. As much as his deception was necessary, he loved her. While it was not a complete confession…it was true enough for her to know.

 “I’m sorry,” she said in a way that transcended her years.

 “She died many years ago. It is not something you must apologize _ma vhenan._ Those years were hard, everyone lost someone...everyone,” he paused taking a deep breath, “Neria, I’m sorry about how cold I was to when we first met. I wanted to keep you far away from me. I…” he sighed, “ruined everything.  I didn’t want to ruin you.”

 “That’s not true. You saved us. You saved the Inquisition…you brought us here. Solas, _ma vhenan.”_ She touched his cheek lightly. “Whatever passed, whatever happened let it go. We must concentrate on defeating Corpheyus.”

Neria looked at him, changing the subject abruptly, “Solas, let’s take a bath.”

 --

Skyhold had stood the ages for one reason. While the ground around the castle was frozen solid, a large patch of meadow was heated from a series of underground hot springs. Notably, the castle had taken advantage of this fact with an advanced plumping system that had been designed by Dwarf engineering.

While Neria had protested taking the largest room of the castle, she was glad she had claimed it in the end as one of the royal fixtures was a large pool that she could fill at leisure with the sulfur-scented water. The room itself was beautiful, covered in an ancient pattern mosaic. She had spent hours in the room after long missions, unwinding and nursing her aching muscles after long romps in the wilderness.

 Neria led Solas into the bathroom laughing as he winced stepping into the water. It was hot, so hot that if it was just slightly a degree hotter, they might be burned. 

“The ancient elves had baths such as these,” he said wistfully.

“We saw some in the Exalted Plains…well…after you left. They humans must have kept these running after stealing the fortress from our people.”

 “ _Our people_ …” he said as though chewing the words. He would not argue with her about what the Dalish truly were this evening—and their falsely constructed history.

Neria noticed his reserve and changed the subject, turning away from him in the tub she began her slow descent into the hot water, allowing her body to adjust to the strength of its heat. He began to sink to the bottom, first stepping, then sitting to watch his feet float out before him. This was luxury.

He looked across the way to his lover. She had tied her hair onto her head, and had closed her eyes to relax in the pool. She opened them then, looking straight into her own. For a moment, Solas saw it on her face. Her intuition that one day Solas would leave her. That while he had revealed part of himself, whatever remained would take him from her. And that he would not return.

In betrayal of this honesty and their love, Solas reached out drawing Neria close to his chest. She began to hum Mythal's tune softly in the light of the moon. 

 


	8. In the Aftermath of Dancing

**3 MONTHS LATER**

Cullen overlooked the Orlesian nobles mingling and chattering in groups. The reminded him of a flock of misguided birds who had neglected to notice a change of seasons. He was tired of the ball. He wanted to go home. It had been a tiresome—yet productive—evening. The Empress had been victorious over the now exiled Duke. The Herald had save them all. She had saved them all again.

He watched the Inquisitor in the glowing candlelight charming the nobles at Celine’s side. She played the Game well, kissing cheeks and bantering lightheartedly. He groaned. We will be here for some time.

Shifting his weight from side to side, he allowed himself to stretch his arms widely. He looked to Solas on his left. They had been standing there in silence for some time.

“She is a natural at this,” Cullen observed gruffly.

Solas smiled mysteriously, putting a finger to his lips before crossing his arms and leaning against the wall. “Yes,” he replied.

“We will be here for sometime….” Cullen said trailing off to invite the mage to join him in conversation.

“Oh, she’ll tire soon,” Solas observed wryly, “She always has a burst of energy at this time, only to wilt suddenly.”

Cullen gulped. It wasn’t the norm to speak this openly about the Inquisitor’s habits. He knew that Solas and the Inquisitor were involved, but speaking of it seemed crass. Cullen didn’t disapprove of the union, but he still thought of it as a strange pairing. Neria was so open and joyful, and Solas so reserved and rather sullen. While they were both elves, they seemed not to share a love of the Dalish traditions that Neria held close to her heart.

“She is…rather…magical.” Cullen observed, trying unsuccessfully to change the subject.

Solas turned to look at him, intensely making eye contact. “Well, she is a…mage.” He dryly retorted.

 _Oh there we have it. The sarcasm._ Cullen didn’t care for dark humor. It always made him lose his patience. He was a military man, he enjoyed when things to be straightforward. It was what brought out the best from him. Mages, however, were always sarcastic. He never understood it when he was at the Circle. The Circle.

“Leliana told me she looks like the Warden,” Solas said absent mindedly sipping on a glass of champagne.

“Oh…” Cullen wasn’t sure what to say. Was Solas baiting him? “She does. They are very different though.”

“Leliana told me that you knew the Warden?” Solas asked.

 _“He must not know what he is asking,_ ” Cullen thought to himself before starting. “I did, we knew each other when I was a young Templer at the Circle. They might look very similar, but they are very different in temperament.”

“How so?” Solas asked curiously.

Cullen paused. He was lost halfway in another time and place remembering. “The Inquisitor is much more…warm. The Warden, she was in many ways ruthless. It was a different time though, you remember that…the Blight. Everythig…”

“Oh, yes,” Solas said, “I remember.”

Cullen felt uncomfortable. There was something about the mage’s tone. It seemed like Solas was hiding something…but what? He decided it was best to ignore the elf, “It...was a different time. I can’t say I disagree with the mages’ rebellion. The Circle was not a happy place. The mages. The Warden stood out in her abilities she was made of the same sort of miraculous essence of our Inquisitor. She frightened many in the administration. I know she resented the restrictions.”

“How did you know?” Solas asked curiously.

“We were friends. Some youthful infatuation, in another world things might have been different.”

“In another world…” Solas repeated…turning to look at the Herald. Cullen was unsure what emotion he was reading on the mage’s face. It was a mixture of sadness and lust. For a few moments the few men stood in silence thinking of what had been, of what might be.

“Excuse me, “ Solas said turning to Cullen. Cullen looked over, just as Solas had said the Inquisitor seemed to wilt quickly, withdrawing to a balcony alone. He watched as first the witch woman Morrigan talked to Herald, and then as Solas swept in. Cullen watched as the older elf swept Neria into his arms, so that they swayed in rhythm in the late night music. She had sunk into his chest, as Solas rested his chin on her head. He didn’t doubt their love as much as he doubted their future.

They would leave soon, Cullen was sure. He was just hoping for a few minutes to think of the Warden. He was sad that she was missing. He knew his memories of her were just youthful infatuation, and that she was the lover of the King. Still, some part of him watched Solas and Neria dancing in the distance thinking that in another time, she would be standing at his side now.

\--

Neria relaxed into Solas’ chest as the two rode on her brown mare through the spring wildflowers. They were alone together riding back from the party. She gave into this fantasy even though she knew the Inquisitions retinue were only a mile North. Neria persuaded had persuaded Solas to ride with her on the trip back. They had not been so open about their relationship in the months prior to the evening at the Orlesian Court, but after their victory she was feeling bold.

It wasn’t that it was a secret, as Solas and her occupied the same quarters, but in her position there were eyes everywhere. After their victory, she couldn’t help dreaming either. We should marry…with my tribe…

She sighed, enjoying the feeling of her lovers arms around her, nudging the mare to walk slowly.

“What a lovely evening,” she said exuberantly.

“There was something in the air that was enjoyable, all that intrigue mixed with the alchemy of violence” he returned.

There was a comfort between the two lovers. They were beginning to understand each other’s rhythms and moods. This was one of those afternoons to celebrate that knowledge. Neria knew this was not the first time Solas had such a connection, they did not speak of it…it was enough for her to know, but she still knew he worshipped her.

“Solas,” she asked tentatively, “When this is over…what will happen to us.”

She could feel his body tense up. _“Did I ask the wrong question?”_ she asked herself.

“Let us see if there is a future _ma vhenan_ ,” he replied cautiously.

“You’re dodging the question, Solas,” she said forcibly.

“Know that I love you, know that I want what is best for us.”

She sighed. It would have to do.  
…

**9 MONTHS LATER**

Tomorrow all of their efforts would come to an end. Neria was laying in her bed for what might be the last night, looking up at the rafters of her cavernous bedroom. She had exchanged her bed with Dorian’s, she was no longer surrounded by the red velvet curtains she had so loved. It was better this way, the empty bed that she now spent her nights in. To Dorian a mattress was a mattress, to her it was a mausoleum of what might have been.

She couldn’t help being dramatic. She had loved in ways that she had not thought possible, only now it was over. That night so many months ago she had suspected her relationship with Solas would come to this abrupt end. So what of it?

It had been a month and till nothing had been able to cheer her up. Everyday she was reminded of Solas’ absence by his very painful presence in Skyhold. In many ways she was ready to face Corypheus tomorrow, to leave and have this over with, selfishly not for the desolation that the crazed magister’s victory would bring to them all—but hope that Solas would leave and the she might never see him again.

Only she knew that would be a far bigger sadness then the one she faced now. “ _Perhaps…he will come to his senses,”_ she hoped to herself.

She heard a knock on the door.  _“Dorian, Leliana, perhaps a last minute report,”_

She stood grabbing her robe, drawing it around her shivering shoulders. Winter would arrive soon, it was hitting the land fast and quick like a plague. Neria had stolen away for a last glance off her balcony, looking at the way the leaves changed their hue in patches.

Nothing could prepare her for the dejected looking Solas standing on the other end. She couldn’t help but smile to herself. “ _He is, as always, a moody elf bastard._ ” Still, while Solas was normally touched by sadness, she had never seen him in the grip of such mournfulness.

“Neria,” he began firmly, “I wanted to see if I could help with any of the preparations of the battle.”

“That sounds like an excuse, Solas.” She snapped.

She couldn’t help her curtness. She had tried to reason with her lover before, begged him to tell her what had happened. Why he had stripped her of her  _vallaslin_  and then abandoned her. A few weeks ago she had given up, finishing with a description of what it was like to return to a room emptied of everything they had once shared. He had looked up at her sadly from the papers on strewn carelessly about his desk. She swore she saw a few stray tears streaming down his face. She couldn’t understand him no matter how he elusive he remained. Neria knew Solas loved her.

And he was standing here on this evening as though to prove it. 

“I’m sorry,” he shrugged. He turned to walk down the stairs slowly, his shoulders hunched over in shame. 

Neria began to cry before she could help herself. It was not so late into the night. There were still hours before dawn. She would not sleep this night, only to face the magister swollen and red-faced. Somehow she knew she would still be victorious, however bitter it would feel.

“Neria,” Solas began softly without turning to face her.

“Don’t start, Solas,” she demanded with whatever authority she could muster in her vulnerability.

He turned then, walking up closely until he was only a few inches away from her, reaching out a hand he reached out to touch her face lovingly.

“I’m sorry,” He said with his voice full of grief,  “I’m more sorry than you can know. I can’t tell you what…there are things that I can’t reveal. Know this doesn’t have anything to do with you. You are my greatest love.”

Neria froze. She knew he spoke the truth. She closed her eyes agaist the touch of Solas’ palm. Something told her this would be the last night she would share with her  _vhenan._

“ _Ar lath ma_ ,” she said before he could stop herself softly.

“ _Ar lath ma,”_  Solas replied, “ _Ar lath ma,_  again and again before this world ends.”

He leaned in then, kissing her softly. Neria could feel that he meant to stop there, could feel the war that had lived within him begging him to stop before it was too late. Before it could win, she grabbed his collar deepening the kiss. She turned her attentions to his ear and jaw, desperately peppering his neck with kisses.

Solas broke away, looking into Neria’s eyes. She could feel him studying her face as though he might never see it again.  _“He is leaving, and nothing I can say will change his mind…”_

He kissed her again. This time more deeply. She would her arms around his neck, wrapping her legs around him as was their old, familiar habit in the heat of their passion. He lifted her carrying her to the edge of the bed.

He touched her slowly, tracing the contours of her body with his fingers, unwrapping the fabric of her body until it was covered only with cold air and moonlight. She returned each touch, undressing Solas from his tunic, and breechers until they were flesh together again.

They had never had such a night together, slow and with sadness. With each thrust of passion, they tasted the salt from each other’s tears. There was a way to their movements, of clinging to each other despite the inevitability of their separation.

 …

She would dream about this night. Replaying the movements over and over again in her mind until she was unsure what memories were fiction.

…

Before he left to put his armor on, to ready himself for battle. Solas turned to her in the unmade bed. “Know that whatever comes, whatever they say, what we had was real.” He kissed her forehead then, holding her to his chest tightly one last time. He hummed that song that had sang for him the night they had first consummated their passion.

“I can’t ask you to stay,” she said knowingly.

“No, it would not be possible.”

“What would happen if you could stay?”

“We would spend the rest of our mornings together.”

“Where will you go?” she asked.

“I can’t tell you.”

 …

 

**3 MONTHS LATER**

They had searched for him. Leliana had never failed before. Neria was not surprised. The first report in Solas’ absence had answered many questions. She had ridden to the town with the scouts looking to see if anyone from the small village Solas claimed to be from only to arrive at ruins.

She had gotten off her horse slowly, in shock. Walking from stone to stone, she traced out the foundations of what had been cottages. Weeds tumbled over them. No one had lived her for hundreds of years.

Dorian had gone with her. She heard him gasp in the background. They looked at each other quizzically.

“What does this mean?” he had asked.

She touched her swelling belly protectively.

“I have suspicions,” she said. “Do you remember what I told you of the elves at the Temple of Mythal…how…how they resembled Solas? How throughout the temple, elves shaved their head in the frescos in ways the Dalish never would.”

 “He is…elvhen?” Dorian stuttered.

 “We will never find him unless he wants to be found,” she said absently.

 

 


	9. Epilogue

** 5 YEARS, 9 MONTHS LATER  **

Neria sat in her study balancing Skyhold’s accounts. While she loved the early adventures of the Inquisition, she was happy that there was more time to stay at Skyhold and tend to the mundane tasks of finances and crops. The castle had become a symbol of a new order of Thedos. Nobles, elves, mages and even surviving Tempars would come to the castle to conduct their business. The mages’ library had established itself as a place of renewed study, one that opened new practices of magic. 

It was her home, she was happy here.

Even years later members of the Inquisition had lingered. Varric had set-up his residence here, writing in the mornings and joining Sera at the tavern after hours. She knew he was growing older, his enjoyment for disreputable pursuits dwindling every day. He still drank too much. Dorian and Iron Bull would come in spurts of a few months every year. Even Cassandra and Leliana would pause their new duties at the Chantry to visit. They were here now for the annual summer celebration of the Inquisition’s defeat of Corypheus. 

She was happy to see her friends—her family, but unhappy that the day annually reminded her of Solas’ departure.

She could hear the celebration starting through the door and smell the food that was being prepared for the feast that would not end until the late hours of the night. Neria was hurriedly finishing her paperwork. After balancing the castle’s account she needed to read yet another treaty between the Inquisition and Orlais. Celine was impatient in her negotiations, always asking for more and more. The situation had to change soon, even if Neria didn’t know _how._

The door creaked open, and Neria looked up to a small girl laughing. She was dressed in a floral printed jumper. Neria smiled throwing her arms open so the little girl ran into her arms.

“Mama when will you be ready to come play with me and Uncle Dorian?’’ the girl asked.

Neria looked down at her daughter, smiling. It had not been easy raising Livia alone, but she didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

“Soon, dear, soon. I promise…go…run and play with Uncle Dorian and Uncle Bull.”

Small arms wrapped around her neck planting a sticky kiss on her cheek. Livia had just begun to loose her teeth, and she was so charming at the moment with her front left tooth an empty space. Neria pulled Livia in close, hugging her tightly, planting a kiss on her head. She put her down gently, smiling to herself as Livia ran about wildly looking up at the fresco Solas, her father, had painted. She always paused at the same spot, howling just like the painted wolf did.  Livia ran back to her, pulling on her Neria’s arm to pick her up once more.

Neria sighed, reaching down to pick her daughter up for one more embrace. She knew that soon Livia would be too big for her to hold in such a way.

“Mama,” Livia began, almost cautiously, “do you know the man in the Garden? He told me a story this morning…he has strange eyes…”

Neria felt herself go cold, something about this seemed ominous. “I imagine…so…is it…who do you mean?”

“The man who has been sitting under the apple tree since yesterday.”

_It couldn’t be._

Without delay she picked her daughter up tightly.

“Dorian!” She called through the door. “Dorian!”  She could hear her friend rush to her. Ever since Redcliffe it took very little for him to determine when she was distressed even if it was not obvious. “Dorian, I need you to take Livia, I think you should visit Cullen.”

He raised his eyebrow quizzically. She hoped that she would not scare Livia.

“No, please, visit Cullen, and bring Bull with you…I can’t explain…but…please…”

Dorian took the little elf-girl from her, holding her protectively. “Well Ms. Livia, it looks like you and I are going on an adventure? What trouble will we cook up with that dashing Commander!” He quickly walked towards the tower from the opposite direction than the garden, she could see him grab his staff from where he had set it next to the door. 

I _t couldn’t be._

Neria slowly walked out through her study to the Garden. The Chantry Garden was largely abandoned this afternoon. It wouldn’t fill up until the celebration in the evening.

She gasped. There underneath the tree just as Livia described…

He stood there looking up at her. Something seemed unsettling. He wore a rich black robe that tied at the waist, his feed were bare as always, but wrapped in red brocade strips. This was not the Solas she knew.

“Neria,” he said, his voice somehow deeper, almost a baritone.

“I knew you’d return…” She began. She didn’t think a warm welcome was appropriate in this instance.

“The girl I spoke with earlier…she is our daughter?”

 “Yes.” She said firmly.

She looked into Solas’ eyes. She had wanted to be this close to him again for years. While she knew the possibility was remote, she had hoped that one day they could be a family together. There was something different about the mage. His eyes, while ice blue, were buzzing with something dark, a light she had seen only once before when the eluvian lit up like a firefly.

 “I’m sorry to both of you. I…wanted to see her…to see you.” He began.

 “You will not stay.”

“Not this year.”

 “I know you watch us. I know you know of her.”

 He nodded. She touched the jawbone necklace she had worn around her neck ever since Livia had been born.

 It had arrived mysteriously at the side of her bed after she had woken up from the fatigue of her labor. One night a few months later a music box appeared on her desk, playing Mythal’s haunting tune. It was always the same story, a messenger had appeared at the Gate unsure of how or where they had acquired the goods, only to wake up upon arrival, a generous gold purse somehow tied around their waist.

 “I want to keep you safe.” He said.

 “From what? From you?” She asked frightened.

 “Neria,  _ma vhenan_ , change is coming to this world.”

 He looked at her sadly. “ I know it is hard to trust me, but you are safe here.”

 She saw him twirl a pink flower bud in his fingers. “What is our daughter’s name?”

 “Livia. Her name is Livia.”

 “I’m glad that she resembles you and not her father.”

Neria looked up at him, taking his hand in her own. She would see him again, but not for years. “Actually, she is quite like you. She might look at me, but the way she talks…”

Whatever was left of the Solas she had loved smiled at her.

 


End file.
